At the thresold of darkness
by Encelado
Summary: "In the end, that's all we are, Doctor: shattered dreams at the thresold of darkness". The Doctor ends up on the Flying Dutchman, and what seemed just an accident turns into a confrontation against his own past. 10th/Rose
1. Chapter 1

Having a day off was supposed to be _fun_.

Donna had insisted on spending some time in a fancy 21th century Caribbean beach. Spa, resort, beautiful sight and dreamy weather.

The problem is, spending the whole day on the sand wasn't exactly his idea of adventure, or _fun_ either. And so, after accordingly leaving her companion to her intensive relax and sunbathing plan, he had set off to take a stroll on the Tardis and be back to pick her up at the end of her special day.

He'd figured out that something wasn't working the moment that the Tardis database had blurred out the moment he was to plug in the coordinates. A normal person would have started freaking out. But, you know, when you're a time traveller who happens to walk in eternity, you just can't resist the scent of an unforseen event. Especially if you've previously tossed out the user's manual of your fancy, blue, police box-disguised starship.

The ship heavily land crashed shortly after. He headed out to make out in which corner of the universe he'd ended up to bump, and it didn't took him more than a few seconds to realize that landing there had been a mistake in first place. He still was on earth, of that he was sure, indoors, probably in a cantine, judging from the heavy smell of mildew. As soon as he had stepped in, however, his Time Lord instinct had sharply snapped: there was something strange in that stinky, wet deposit, something that didn't belonged to that world, but rather to his. Gallifrey must have had a connection to that place, even though it sounded impossible.

His attention was however suddenly deverted; a familiar, wholeheartedly unexpected noise reached his ears. Much to his astonishment, he turned around and rush to see the Tardis disappear in front of his eyes.

His hands run through his hair in despair. His Tardis was gone. _Gone._ Without his quick and safe escape means, he felt exposed. Something once belonging to Gallifrey had unexpectedly hidden there, and he was to face it, ready or not.

Fate is said to be not evil, but just tricky to his victims; and so, before the Doctor could actually start freaking out, he felt something sharp and metallic picking on the base of his neck. He slowly turned around to meet his attacker's gate: a 6-feet seaweed covered _pirate_, followed by a gang of similar pals.

"Looks like we got ourselves a stowaway onboard, mates!" the fishman grawled, as his companions burst into evil laughters.

Perfect. Time to step up and perform one hell of a show. The mere mention of his name was not said capable of making armies run away for no reason, after all.

"Hello, I'm the Doctor" he introduced himself, shifting the spoil far from his jugular; the truce and annoyed stares he met in response weren't particulary friendly. Realizing that without a Tardis at hand uncovering his identity as an alien Time Lord would rapidly rush him into a _dead_ Time Lord, he decided to batten down the hatches before it was too late "_Doctor_ John Smith" corrected himself in a rush. Apparently, no-one had noticed. Definetely, protecting his true identity didn't spare him his next encounter.

He was effortlessly and carelessly dragged from the Santa Barbara –the armery- to the main deck. It was midday, and the whole crew, all of them covered in fish and shells, was working on there, supervised by an alarming, cruel, whip-equipped pirate.

They still were humans under their mutated skin, of that he was certain. Was telling them that their desease derived from alien bacteria a good idea? Probably not. It would fall outside the 'Stay out of unecessary trouble' policy he'd recently charged himself with. Anyway, he wasn't again given time to think; a _thud_ vibrated through the old wooden, and shortly enough the Captain made his appearence on the deck. He had a squid head, and a consequent beard made out of living tentacles; his body was fishy, with a hand turned into a claw and a noisy crab leg. The Doctor focused on his eyes, and startled beyond his intention: the pirate was Davy Jones, Captain of the Flying Dutchman. They had met a pair centuries before, when Gallifrey was still running, while in a previous regeneration, when Jones still looked human and acted as a transporter of souls on the Calipso-donated vessel, the Flying Dutchman. A couple of things must had changed since their not so friendly first encounter.

"Who-are you, uh?" smirked the pirate, as he got closer to the standing, astonished man "It's unusual for us to have stowaway. Did anyone ever tell you it's dangerous to dare the Devil himself?"

The Doctor gulped, mostly for allowing himself time to elaborate a plan and don't make his undercover fail. Davy Jones knew his name, but not his face; and he could use that as an advantage.

"I'm Doctor John Smith" he introduced himself again "My ship wrecked and I found myself here"

A bit vague, as an explanation, but a one the Captain seemed satisfied with.

"You don't look like round here, _Doctor _Smith" he observed, accentuating his title in a mocking way.

"I was born in Germany" he made up. After all, how many chances were there that Davy Jones had actually recruited a German sailor among his men? Apparently, many.

"German? We're prepared for every evenience" the Captain replied, gesturing then out an half-hidden member of his crew "Anderson, come closer. Look's like we've find a fella of yours, uh?"

A young man went foward; he looked apparentely normal in comparison to his mates. A doe-eyed, dark and curly haired, definitely terrified gentleman

"Translate" the pirate ordered sharply, before turning again to him "Do you fear death, Doctor?"  
The boy rushed a hand to the back of his neck in discomfort, and asked him a different, unexpected question.

"Seind Sie die Eingehende Sturm? (Are you the Oncoming Storm)" he rushed, causing the Doctor to startle and nod in surprise.

"Do you fear death?" the Captain replied, grabbing the Doctor at his jacket and then releasing him. Anderson nervously glared at his superior. Then, he gathered enough courage to add something which made the Doctor's hearts sink hard.

"Bitte Helpfen mir, Doktor" he whispered, and in those sad golden eyes he read terror and fear, and most of all, a plea for life.

The Doctor looked at the Captain, innerly smirking for the first time.

"Four words I never say no to".


	2. Chapter 2

What's the last straw for a time traveller? Being stuck on a place where time never passes. Had he been he at his console, in _his_ starship, he'd have just laughed at the pun and set off to go and pick Donna up at the spa.

It took him just a few too much to realize he wasn't, and that in the meantime, Anderson had disappeared. He tried to reach him, but before he could even catch a glimpse of his new friend in the greyish, crowded deck of the _Dutchman_, he found himself being almost dragged to the upper deck by a shark-headed sailor, and tossed a piece of cloth and an half-filled bucket. Again, the fishman went away before he could ask anything. At first, he actually began to mop the floor, struggling to find a way as not to totally spoil his suit and still get some effect against the floor; after a while, tough, boredom took the best of him. He gave a quick look around: there were fewer people there than in the main deck, and his mates seemed too focus to notice him. In assence of a better idea, with with his ship gone in the wind, he decided to stick out his screwdriver and do a little bit of investigation on his own. First of all, he had to find Anderson; for how uneasy he could feel at being there, he had a request of help at his stake, and he neither couldn't nor wouldn't walk away. Sure, his escape means was no where to be found, and the whole situation had a gloomy athmosphere; but even if he wasn't to away on easy terms, at least he could find out the reason he'd been summoned there, and mostly why his Tardis had disappeared like that, as if someone had driven it away. Someone with an high knowledge of mechanics and quantistic, non-linear physics, as well as a good dose of mental strenght just to battle against the time matrix itself.

In all of the universe, there had been just one people who knew enough of Tardis technology to succeed in hijacking one: _his_.

With this chilling thought in mind, he began his exploration of the vessel.

As he shortly and disappointingly after found out, beyond his wildest dreams, the Dutchman apparently hosted no alien presence onboard. No Zrygon shapeshifters, no Sycoraxian blood-control system, not even Neil Amstrong's lost film roll. Everything on that ship was hopelessy, unquestionably human; even the fish coverage common among the sailors. There was a wide range of hapless people, from the clueless deckhand to the experienced sea dog, but all of them were earthly 'till the last oyster.

The only supernatural features in the sunshine, apparently, were he, his sonic screwdriver and his tingling sixth sense. Something was there, hiding in plain sight, beyond his eyes; something he should have understood straight away, but he still hadn't.

Relatively luckily for him, Fate lent him a tricky hand. His detective wanderings had led him at the stairs connecting the upper with the main deck; and there, something almost made him loose his step. A thin piece of metal, appeared out of nowhere – a scale that, as a quick screwdriver check confirmed him, was made out of time-vortex forged metal. It was a piece of Tardis, a little older than his, and there was no real reason for it to be there: especially because the owner of _that _Tardis, he knew for sure he had died no long before the Time War.

Before he had time to elaborate further, though, he heard a subtle, sinister whistle throughout the air. He'd just raised the eyes, when an hoisted cannon, coming from his left, missed his head by a few inches and crashed on the other side. After a second, he realised in horror that the cash had hitten somebody, before falling into pieces. He went closer, surrounded by some sailors, and recognised the victim as the boy who had begged for his help, Anderson. He slowly stood up, trying to balance onto wavery feet. Seconds later he boatswain made his way throughout the crowd and towards him. He was tall, harsh and bulky, and in comparison the deckhand seemed little more than a teenager.

"Why on heart weren't you on your spot, _maggot_?" he spat, dragging him up with unexplicable hatred. He was shaking, partly from fear, partly from shock, but tried and answer the man nevertheless with the calmest voice he could muster.

"Ich war- I had gone below decks to get a ein Seilstück, um das-" voice failed him, and struggled to come back as the man pointed his whip against him.

"I got no intention to listen to your insane babbling, you-"

_Don't you dare _muttered a new voice, so soft and whispery that for a second, the Doctor thought he'd dreamt of it. Then, he saw the faces of the sailors go white from fear. "It's the Phantom again" somebody whispered.

A phantom. A phantom who had spoken to him in his own language. In Gallifreyan. As far as coincidences go, this was a bit too much. The only one who had kept his temper was Anderson himself, against whom the boatswain was to direct his anger outburst just seconds before.

He was just about to intervene, when suddenly, the boatswain released the boy, as if the 'Phantom' 's menaces had actually got him. Moments after, the bell of turn shifting rang, all the sailors scattered around the lower deck.

Anderson kept strong a few moments more, and then almost fell on his knees again. The Doctor rushed to help him, and after a little resistance, he reluctantly accepted his support to stand up.

"Not here" he said the boy, anticipating his question, before, almost reluctantly, gesturing him to follow. By the stairs, they went under decks and the down again, to a dark and probably forgotten corner of the vessel.

"Are you alright?" the Doctor asked, leading him to the closest cash and helping him sit down. He didn't seem phisically injured, just a bit shaken up. Anderson nodded, and then added, with feeble voice, "I'm sorry".

"Don't worry" the Doctor answered automatically, trying to smile "You said you needed my help. That's what I do for a living. What's your name?"

"Blaine" he introduced himself, before continuing "I'm asking for your help, but I'm not the one who needs it". He was whispering, as if he didn't want to get heard by somebody, in the deserted cantine.

"You don't have be scared of me, whatever you might have heard" he said, encouragingly, remembering that the boy had recognized him by his warrior-oriented name "I'm the Doctor, I'm here to help".

Blaine raised his eyes, and gave him a well-known pocket watch. Before he could explain, somebody did it for him, from the other side of the room, half hidden from obscurity.

The voice, he'd just heard it; it was just much less ghostly in tone, and much more in meaning this time.

_"He's not scared of you. He's frightened about I might react about this story."_


	3. Chapter 3

Disbelief. Astonishment. Fear. Three feelings he had sworn to feel no more, a night too many years before.

_What's up, Doctor, four hundred years and you actually expected to be the only survivor? How grand of you._

The timelock might have broken, or the Daleks might have found a sick way to fool and trick him into servitude on the Dutchman. Or maybe, he'd just definetely gone mad.

_Don't you worry, Doc. You're just as sane as me. Which isn't much, I'll give you. You're not the only one who's gonna get hurt out of your presence here. So, pick up your sanity and run away Doctor. Isn't that what you've been doing, all of your life?_

For once in his life, he was actually scared. And fear isn't exactly the best yardstick, sometimes.

"It's not a good idea, to threaten me." he said, with a slow, dangerous voice, putting himself between Blaine and the new, well-known figure, still hidden by the shadows "I don't know how you've arrived here, but I warn you: I don't give second chances. Be gone, now."

On the corner of his eye, he spotted Blaine stalling a bit, but decided to ignore that and rather focus on the other one. Many life had he touched in his travelling years; and now, the only surving reminder of his own people, a very painful one, was there, hidden between the shadows.

_What's wrong about running away, Doctor? Rassilion and all the other Time Lords, on Gallifrey - no-one of them shall blame you. They're too busy with their War counc-_

He never got to finish that sentence. The ship suddenly swung, and his interlocutor fell dead weight on his knees, and then foward. He hauled himself up from the floor as quick as he could, but seemed to lack the strenght to stand up straight away. The Doctor was to help him, but before he could do or say anything, however, Blaine's concerned voice silenced his.

"_Kurt_" he muttered, rushing to his side and struggling to hold him up, "Kurt, what's going on?"  
And there, the Doctor got astonished not for the first time on that night. He saw Kurt Hummel, a man known not to dislike violence, the man who had willingly betrayed his people and whom he had tamed on the Council's behalf, just leaning on some earthly youngster's arms, unable to stop shaking from fright and pain. Into the light, he looked far more young than he remembered; and yet, those eyes, those had not changed. Broken, blue, and still defiant, all in all.

"I just fell, nothing to worry about" he replied, speaking for the first time not in Gallifreyan, but in English. It was incredible, looking at his helper. Sure, Blaine hadn't supposedly understood a thing of what they'd said, and hadn't a clue about his mate's true identity; and still, there was something, in the caring attitude he was displaying towards him, which painfully remainded him of his wild state, just after ending the War, and of the one who had saved him from himself.

"I'm alright, trust me" he whispered, addressing Blaine with a swift, soft voice, as if he were speaking to a child not to be scared. The pirate sighed, and tried to hold him as Kurt quickly shifted away from his arms; his former enemy turned then to him, and spoke in faltering voice.

"You'd better go back to the main deck" he whispered, walking backwards, without taking his eyes off the two of them. He looked so young, so scared, so sad, as he added just some more words, dedicated to the Doctor.

_Bring him away. Do what you always do, and don't turn back – _an esitation- _That pocket-watch is not mine, and you know that_.

Before he could say anything back, Kurt took one more step, and, in the space of a breath, he faded into the wall, just like a…

"Ghost" completed Blaine, and the sad knowledge of his pain was almost unbearable, "That's what he calls himself. Whom I was asking help for". He gestured him to come along, obeying to Kurt's order. At the thresold of the stairs, however, before following him, the Doctor asked him a question, ruffling his own hair in a meditative way.

"What do you know about him? About Gallifrey, and the Tardis, and the Time War, and…"

Blaine politely cut him off, with some sort of smiling bitterness in his eyes.

"I think I can know nothing of it" a moment, and then he added, in a whisper, in a language he wasn't even suppoded to know of, something which made his blood flinch.

"_No more_."


End file.
